


Flipped coins

by apathyinreverie



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: 'Destiny can go fuck itself' indeed, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caring Jaskier | Dandelion, Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, Family, Fix-It, Gen, Minor Character Death, Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23113606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathyinreverie/pseuds/apathyinreverie
Summary: Geralt would truly like to know how he keeps ending up withmorepeople bound to him every time he damn well turns around.(A post-dragon-hunt-debacle fix-it.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 44
Kudos: 310





	Flipped coins

“And though you did want to lose her, Geralt,” Borch says, voice seemingly gentle, even if his intent is anything but. “You will.”

And Geralt can hear the underlying steel in his voice, the conviction, the determination of making a situation work out exactly as this dragon has determined it should. No matter what Geralt may have to say on the matter.

Fuck, but does he hate being manipulated.

"He already has," Yennefer says, mouth twisted down, her eyes cold despite the tears running down her face, before she is turning on her heel, fingers twirling as a portal opens up a little distance away. And then, she is gone.

Geralt closes his eyes. Just a second to grieve yet something else he had so briefly thought might be his and that he has now lost, most likely never to be regained.

All in the name of this supposed ‘destiny’ of his.

He doesn't want to look at Borch, the dragon who Geralt had helped without an instance of hesitation and who has now repaid him by taking something from him, for the sole reason of trying to force him onto the path everyone seems to have decided is his destiny.

People keep insisting he follow his 'destiny', claiming it is inevitable, that his struggles against letting himself be used as a mere pawn by some supposed higher power are futile. Never mind the fact that it is those people's own continuous interference in his life that makes it so.

Geralt has nothing but contempt for anyone who tries to force their version of destiny upon him.

It's not even that he doubts the existence of a bond between himself and that child he so very unintentionally claimed more than a decade ago. Quite to the contrary.

He's been around a while, he _knows_ there are bonds you cannot escape, bonds wrought in blood or in magic, by a promise made or by circumstance thrust upon you, bonds that wind themselves so tightly around you there simply is no extricating yourself.

But ‘destiny’ has got fuck all to do with it.

It's _choices_ that matters. Choices in your past and in your presence and in your future, choices you make yourself and choices made for you.

The mere idea that there _could_ be such a thing as destiny, some higher power laying out a pre-determined path in front of him that is impossible to deviate from, any attempt to create your fate doomed from the very start, is abhorrent to him, goes against everything he has ever believed in.

Because, why even _try_ , if your fate has already been determined?

He loathes people for their audacity to meddle in his life, to rip his chosen bonds from him, solely in order to force him onto that path they themselves determined to be the right one, his own choices disregarded. And once he finds himself without any other options than to follow that path, once _their_ manipulations have left him no other choice, those same people then dare nod at him wisely, lecturing him how it was clearly always meant to be...

Like this situation right here. Once again someone thinking themselves so grandly wise they feel it is their duty to force him onto the path they themselves deem the right one for him to follow.

It more than vexes him.

He watches Borch stride off towards the cave after his parting shots about destiny, and for a few moments Geralts simply loses the hold he has on himself and his temper for a bit, takes out his mood on Jaskier of all people.

Jaskier who at some point simply decided they were going to be friends and travel companions, no matter what Geralt himself might think on the matter. Jaskier who has stuck by his side ever since, who – after decades of self-imposed solitude – managed to make Geralt almost believe that he might be able to forge lasting bonds after all, that he might actually be able to keep some people in his life. Jaskier who made him _hope_.

But clearly, it was a fool's hope.

If he can lose Yen in spite of a wish granted by a djinn - one of the most powerful magics that exists in this world - then clearly he has no way of truly holding on to anyone. Better to rip himself free of those bonds now and cauterize the wounds right after. It will be less painful, less debilitating in the long run.

He still doesn't quite have the heart to turn around and actually watch Jaskier leave.

As much as Geralt is convinced he should probably have done this a long time ago, Jaskier is also the first chosen companion he's had in his long life, not a bond wrought in magic or by circumstance, but simply by choice. He should have known better than to think the distinction would make any sort of difference in the end.

And then.

Suddenly.

Everything changes again.

An earth-shattering roar shakes the very ground beneath their feat, the entire mountainside seeming to tremble with the dragon’s fury.

And Geralt is already catapulting himself forward, towards the entrance of the cave.

As soon as he reaches the outcrop, he spares the barest glance in Jaskier's direction, the instinct of first making sure the bard is safe at any sign of danger still very much there.

Even in that fraction of a second, he manages to meet the bard's wide-eyed stare, where the bard is seemingly frozen in place about halfway along the path that leads back to their camp from this night, but clearly unharmed.

And then, Geralt has already passed the entrance, sword drawn and ready to throw himself into whatever battle has the dragon roaring his fury to the heavens.

It takes him barely a few seconds to reach the cave. And the sight that greets him there has pure rage pulse through him.

Borch is clearly mid-transformation, wings already sprouting from his back, face shifted halfway, fingers already clawed but hands still mostly human, kneeling on the ground, face twisted and directed towards where the deceased dragon and the egg are resting.

But it's the spear sticking out from his side that has Geralt so furious, blood soaking the ground beneath the dragon.

And the reaver who is clearly responsible is already turned away, leaning over the egg in front of the dead mother dragon, greed in his eyes as he reaches for it - an unhatched dragon egg, a treasure of immeasurable worth to the right people - already in the process of lifting the egg from its resting place.

Geralt doesn't even think, sends his sword spinning through the air, severing both the reaver's arms before he can lift the egg more than a finger's breadth from the ground, blood spurting, the wail of pain echoing through the cavern. Then, Geralt is there, a glint of metal and the reaver’s lifeless body goes flying backwards, slams into wall of the cave, where he drops down, dead.

He disregards the corpse, already spinning back towards Borch who is still doubled over.

"Quick, Witcher. The child," the dragon gasps.

Geralt doesn't even pause, crosses the distance within a mere seconds, dragging the half-transformed man over towards where the egg is now once more resting in the same spot as before.

He might even think nothing were wrong at all, that he made it in time.

If it weren't for the fact that he the glow within the egg is already dimming, the inherent magic clearly draining, and draining _fast_. It seems even that brief disturbance of its resting spot has already doomed the child within. Just as Borch had warned earlier.

"What can be done?" Geralt asks, keeps an eye on the egg and the ever-receding glow of its shell, even as he reaches for the spear still stuck in Borch's side, most likely the reason the dragon isn’t shifting further either way. "Can you heal yourself?"

Hands on his stop him before he can try to pull out the spear.

 _"I could,"_ Borch says, voice thrumming strangely through the air, caught between normal speech and the mind-speak of his dragon form. _"But it would not make a difference. I would much rather give my magic to save the child."_

Geralt's teeth clench, ignores the clatter at the entrance heralding Jaskier's forever-less-than-stealthy appearance in the cave.

The bard stares wide-eyed at the scene in front of him. "Ooooh," Jaskier breathes faintly, glancing between the egg and Geralt and Borch, lingering on the half-transformed dragon, apparently having a revelation about his identity. "Things are making so much more sense now." A pause. "Well, not really. Quite the opposite really. If anything, I would quite like to protest th-"

The bard's rambling is cut off by Borch. _"The child will die here, White Wolf,"_ he says calmly. _"Unless he is born right now, before the last of his mother’s magic fades from the shell. She gave everything of herself to protect her son. And I will gladly do the same."_

Geralt narrows his eyes, mind easily picking up on the implications of that. Borch is planning to do the same as the dragoness did, a dragoness who is now very clearly dead. Geralt is rather less than enthusiastic at the prospect of just what this might mean.

"You will expend your magic to safe the child," he says. "And you will die in the process."

 _"I will,"_ Borch agrees calmly. _"It is the only way to save the child, to accelerate his growth to the point where he might survive, to give my strength, my magic, my very life in exchange for his. A true legacy. There is no reason to go on otherwise."_

"Hmm," Geralt focuses back on the egg. Somehow he already knows what is coming.

 _"Geralt of Rivia,"_ the dragon continues, voice severe. _"I beg to entrust this child to you."_

Geralt sighs out. _Called it_ , he thinks sardonically.

And before he can speak up, to protest, to point out that _anyone_ \- even Jaskier no matter how flighty the bard can be - would be a better choice than Geralt himself to care for a newborn creature, Borch continues, _"I truly count myself blessed for your presence at this moment. This child would already be doomed if there were no one with enough inherent magic in their blood to be able to sustain him until his maturity."_

 _Ah, fuck_ , Geralt thinks, protests dying on his tongue at the mention of the ‘inherent magic’ being a necessity. Because that easily precludes Jaskier or Borch's two companions as options. _If only Yennefer hadn't taken off in a snit just minutes ago, she could have had that child she so badly wanted._

Still, he bows his head in agreement. Because what else is he supposed to do with no one else around to care for the child in his stead.

There is a relieved sigh from the half-shifted dragon beside him.

And then the entire cave is flooded with magic, ancient, all-encompassing, and focused on the egg in front of him.

The shell cracks.

 _"You need to be the first thing the child sees upon his birth,"_ Borch murmurs, voice weakening even in Geralt’s head, the magical drain in combination with his wound clearly taking its toll already. _"His magic will bind itself to you. If he binds himself to one without magic or one about to die, he will not last the night, no matter the amount of magic my death will provide him with."_

Fuck.

Because that sounds like a magical bond if ever there was one. And those are generally impossible to escape.

Geralt clenches his teeth, but still kneels down next to the cracking egg.

No matter his displeasure at the entire situation, he will not condemn a child – independent of its race - to an immediate death.

But he has also been around long enough to pick up on just what sort of bond is being implied here.

"How long will he be bound to me," he asks, as he watches more and more cracks appearing in the shell, cracks filled with golden, ever-changing light, like liquid fire, gathering the magic saturating the air in the cave.

He entirely ignores Jaskier hovering several feet away with Borch's two companions, halfway hidden behind one of the boulders in the cave, staring wide-eyed at what is happening. Geralt doesn’t even have to ask to know the bard is already composing some sort of heart-wrenching ballad about a parent’s sacrifice or magical births or something along those lines, full of flowery language and - as it always seems to be the case these days - revolving around Geralt in some fashion.

 _"Until he is matured,"_ Borch replies. _"If you die before then, he dies with you."_

Geralt breathes out harshly. _Well, fuck._ That’s exactly what he was afraid of.

More cracks appear in the shell.

"Can this bond be passed on to someone else at any point?" he asks, because apparently now his own death will also mean the death of another. And his life of monster hunting really isn't the safest, so staying alive for another couple of decades is in no way guaranteed.

 _"No,"_ the dragon returns strongly. _"Once formed, the bond is irreversible."_

"Hmm," Geralt hums less-than-pleased but at the same time utterly unsurprised. Because, _of course, it is._

A piece of the egg's shell falls off, skittering along the ground. It's a small piece, barely the width of two fingers, but Geralt can already see movement even through the little gap now in the shell and he absently notes Borch coming to attention beside him, shifting his position until he is mostly hidden behind Geralt, so as to not be visible to the newborn dragon.

Another two pieces of the shell fall, bigger than the first and quickly joined by more. Until finally, the top part of the shell just cracks open along the middle, sliding off.

And Geralt finds himself staring straight at the little creature within.

Green scales, lined in gold, a horned head, little wings twitching on its back, the membranes between them so thin they are almost transparent, about as big as his two hands put together.

And golden eyed – just like his own – instantly focused on Geralt. He doesn’t even try to glance away.

The little dragon keeps staring at him, eyes unblinking, utterly focused on his. And Geralt can practically _feel_ the bond between them forming, magic latching on, burrowing deep. A bond to truly last.

Minutes pass.

And then, finally, the little dragon blinks, breathes out a hiccupped breath, little whorls of smoke curling from his nostrils, eyes still focused on Geralt but the pull of the magic now gone.

A questioning chirp, another. Then, a yawn.

Geralt is very much tempted to roll his eyes in exasperation when he hears Jaskier promptly give a fucking coo from where he is still hiding mostly out of sight with the two Zerrikanians. Because of course the bard would think this to be adorable and be utterly undeterred by the rather lasting implications of it all.

Although, clearly, the bond between him and the newborn dragon has already formed, because Borch is shifting now, clearly trying to right himself. So, Geralt reaches back without actually looking, helps the man sit up straight. Borch’s expression as his eyes promptly focus on the newborn dragon still stuck in the egg, little claws curling over the edges of the shell as the newborn once more chirps at Geralt, is desolately forlorn and proudly satisfied at the same time.

Geralt ignores the two Zerrikanians apparently choosing to drag Jaskier from the cave with them, most likely wanting to give Borch a few peaceful last moments with the newborn dragon he chose to give his life for.

Because the golden dragon’s end is clearly nearing, the magic in the cave wavering.

And Geralt would absolutely let Borch have those few moments with the child. If only he could make himself actually move, if only the mere thought of stepping away from the newborn dragon didn’t make his hands involuntarily curl into fists.

Fuck, but this is quite the strong bond he has found himself in.

So, he does the opposite, reaches out for the small dragon, picks him up from within the shell to cradle the creature in his hands, bring the child closer to both himself and Borch at his side.

He barely flinches when Borch then breathes out fire right next to him, barely enough to curl around the newborn dragon in his hands, flames licking at Geralt’s fingers but the blisters left behind so mild they’ll likely heal within the hour.

Geralt pays it no mind. He is far more focused on the fact that he is suddenly holding a very human babe instead of a tiny dragon.

_"Dragon young bathed in fire will turn into their human form,” Borch murmurs in his mind. “Bathe them in fire again and they will change back once more."_

Which, good to know.

A witcher traveling with a _human_ child is already going to lead to numerous less-than-ideal situations in the future, but significantly less so than an actual _dragon_ would.

The next few minutes pass quickly as Borch murmurs in his mind, passes on a few more essential pieces of information regarding the care of newborn dragons. Geralt is grateful for that at least.

It’s especially good to know that for the first couple of days, dragons feed solely off of magic before they start on other forms of nourishment. And thanks to Borch's sacrifice, there is more than enough magic in this cave for the newborn to feed off of.

As evidenced by the fact that the child rather quickly falls asleep, resting in the crook of Geralt's arm, quick, even breaths against his armor, a soft and rapid heartbeat in his ears.

For now, Geralt simply ignores the fact that he is apparently stuck right here for at least another couple of days while the newborn feeds on the magic in the cave. He’s certainly been in worse situations.

Borch is now leaning against the cave wall beside him, eyes still fixed on the child, as though trying to take in everything he can in what little time he still has. Geralt can tell that it is mere stubbornness that lets the man still hold on to life at this point.

He has already given all of himself to this new generation of his kind. And now he is fading fast.

 _"You'd think a dragon of my age would know better than to try and interfere with a djinn's magic,"_ Borch suddenly speaks up, voice weakened to the point that Geralt knows it won't be long before his strength entirely leaves him. _"No matter whether I was trying to aid destiny's wish or not."_

Ah, apparently they are back to that entire situation with Yennefer again.

"There is no such thing as destiny," Geralt asserts once more, feels like he's spent the better part of the past decade repeating himself on this matter. You'd think people would take notice at some point. Alas, no, people are as stuck in their own beliefs as always and forever determined to force their view of the world on him, so very often tending to even get offended when he dares to have his own opinion on matters.

Case in point.

Borch sighs. _"You still haven't learned? After all this you still do not believe in destiny?"_

Geralt just scoffs slightly. He doesn't get why people seem to think that finding himself manipulated towards that child of surprise of his should make him believe in destiny _more_ for some reason. All it does it make him doubt _their_ sense for believing in it.

"I believe in bonds, bonds between people," he still answers the dragon. Because Borch is about to die and Geralt is holding the child he sacrificed his life for and he even believes the dragon was trying to do the right thing. So, if anyone deserves some sort of explanation for his refusal to just follow along whenever someone points at something and screams 'Meant to be!' at him, it's this golden dragon. "Bonds are what draws us along, bonds to other people, of the past and of the future, pulling us every which way. I find the mere notion of a higher power guiding us along not only laughable but also loathsome in its very nature. _Destiny_ is merely what you make of the bonds you yourself forge in life."

There is a pause.

And Geralt can feel the heat in the cave diminish, can feel the life practically bleeding out of the dragon beside him, even though neither of them looks away from the child sleeping in his arms.

 _"Bonds,"_ the dragon then murmurs in his head. _"Like a bond wrought by claiming the law of surprise on a child, like using a djinn's wish to bind someone you care for to yourself, like agreeing to care for a dragon's child because there is no one else around who could."_

"Hmm," Geralt hums in agreement, thinks of the one bond he himself has truly _chosen_ over the past decades, the bond of unlikely friendship between a witcher and a bard, traveling together for many years, defying everything people think should be true about either.

 _"Ah,"_ Borch hums. _"And here I was thinking you were a victim of ignorance."_ There is now something almost amused in his voice. _"Suddenly, a lot of things about you seem to be making quite a bit more sense than before, Geralt of Rivia. I certainly wish I had deigned to have this talk with you sooner."_

"I'd have much preferred it," he agrees. Doesn’t mention how much he loathes the dragon’s earlier manipulations, the way Borch had twisted the situation with him and Yen into something that made their bond look so much worse, preventing her from even _asking_ what exactly Geralt had wished for, utterly convinced she already knew. When she so very clearly doesn’t.

There is a pause.

 _"However, I can't help but also find myself gladdened,"_ Borch finally murmurs, voice merely a whisper now, even in his head. _"Gladdened by the fact that this child is now tied to someone who will forever honor that bond."_

That's exactly what people always take so very long to understand.

'Destiny' as people mean it is always a singular path, leaving no room for anything else. And ever since the idea was first presented to Geralt, his entire being had bristled at the idea of his life being a single, straight, already laid-out path towards what has supposedly been deemed his fate in this world. Not to even mention that destiny can supposedly even be satisfied at some point, if only you do everything just right. It's a ridiculous notion in his opinion.

Life is far too messy for that to make any sort of sense, makes you stumble and fall and drag yourself on, on your hands and feet if need be.

But _bonds_ , they leave room for as many people as can manage to fit themselves into your life, of the good and of the bad kind, pulling you into multiple directions at any given time as you try to satisfy them all. That seems much more fitting if trying to make sense of this fucked up world they live in. Bonds will keep their hold on you forever, never quite letting go no matter how much you might fight to free yourself of them.

It's for that very reason why he generally tries to avoid them as much as possible. Seeing as life-long bonds are a rather daunting prospect for someone with an immortal lifespan.

"That, I will," Geralt still confirms, voice firm and unwavering. Because he has always been a man of his word. Any promise he makes is yet another inescapable bond to be fulfilled.

And beside him, Borch heaves another sigh. A second. And then he stills, everything about him just stopping. The sort of stillness only ever present in death.

Geralt closes his eyes.

Lets himself mourn the death of such a magnificent creature. Another creature fallen to the greed of man.

However, he doesn't get much more than those couple of moments to mourn Borch's death, before there is the familiar humming of a portal once more.

And suddenly, Yennefer is there, face twisted in fury as she comes storming through the entrance.

"Something changed. I _felt_ something change," she rails angrily. "What the fuck did you d-," she trails off, eyes widening.

Most likely at the sight of Geralt sitting between two dead dragons, holding a tiny human baby in his arms.

Geralt sighs. "Apparently, we missed one," he gestures vaguely at the dead reaver lying off to the side, lets her draw her own conclusions from that.

Her eyes narrow. "And that got you a child, how exactly?"

"Borch was dying. And I was the only one around, so he decided to pass the care for his child on to me."

She blinks.

A second, two.

Then she just starts laughing. Her laughter is bright and honestly amused and mockingly cold at the same time.

"How is it you always seem to be the one who has that which I want most in life?" she asks.

The way she says it definitely doesn't sound like a compliment. At all. If anything, it rather sounds like a threat.

She moves to close the distance between them, comes to a stop right beside him to glance down at the child sleeping against his chest.

She reaches out, runs one of her elegant fingers down the baby's soft cheeks, as if to check that it is truly warm and breathing and fine.

"How is it I never seem quite able to rid myself of you?" she asks softly.

Geralt doesn't reply. It would likely be less than helpful to point out that it might very well be the djinn's magic binding them together that is ensuring they'll never be able to quite let go of each other. He thinks the fact that he is now apparently a father for lack of a better word, and she has been trying to regain her ability of bearing a child for decades now, rather speaks for itself.

She scoffs, her thoughts quite likely running along similar lines.

"I will go fetch some necessities," she growls. Then she is gone once more.

Geralt honestly doesn't know what to feel at the implication that she is apparently intending to return.

Sure, he didn't want to lose her. However, child or not, there is no way Yennefer is already done making her absolute displeasure with him known.

Yes, for now it might be better to stick with being apprehensive instead of joyful at her apparent renewed willingness to bear his presence.

Another noise draws his attention to the entrance of the cave, someone nearing. And then, Jaskier sticking his head inside, "Did I just hear Yennefer's dulcet, vaguely homicidal tones in here?" he asks, voice cheerful but his eyes alert, giving way to sadness as he spots Borch's still body leaning against the wall beside Geralt.

He just sighs in confirmation. “She left again, but will return this time.”

Jaskier apparently takes that as an invitation to come closer, stopping only a few steps away, eyes now fixed on Geralt and the baby sleeping happily against his chest.

"Now, this is not something I thought I'd ever see." He tilts his head, clearly somewhat taken off-guard by finding a human child in place of a newborn dragon. "You wouldn't happen to feel the need to actually elaborate this particular tale for me just this once, would you? I mean, golden dragons, evil reavers, witchers rescuing babies... This is going to make a rather excellent tale, possibly one of my best based on the lyrics I'm already composing in my head, if I may say so myself."

"Hmm," Geralt hums, rather grateful for the distraction from the two dead dragons beside him, another reminder of the fact that humans truly do like to destroy everything that is too different in their eyes or just different enough to make them a profit.

Then, the bard steps even closer, calmly finding a seat on the boulder across from where he is sitting.

“Although, I had admittedly been wondering how we were going to hide the growing dragon on our future travels,” Jaskier continues on blithely.

And Geralt briefly closes his eyes, if only to hide his utter relief at the fact that driving Jaskier away was never going to be as easy as telling him to go away.

"You know, Geralt,” the bard adds. “I have had some time to think about what you were saying earlier. Not only about those less-than-friendly jabs at my overall, ever-so-delightful contributions to our adventures," he pauses dramatically and Geralt can't help but wince slightly. “Which, I might add, was just utter nonsense. Truly. So, I decided to take the time out of my very busy ballad writing schedule and educate you," Jaskier nods to himself decisively once, like confirming the idea to himself.

Geralt just huffs out a breath in amusement.

"But also what you said about destiny and bonds to Borch. Which, let me just says, explains so much about..., well, _everything_ really. You couldn't have told me this particular view of yours before? I mean, beyond simply declaring your disbelief in the concept of destiny itself?" Jaskier shakes his head. "Even someone less than rhetorically gifted such as yourself should be able to communicate that much at least. You'd think spending an extended amount of time in my delightful presence would have taught you as much."

He raises a skeptical eyebrow at that. If anything, he thinks it's quite the opposite, though. Jaskier talks more than enough for the two of them combined. Why would Geralt ever feel the need to add to the bard's endless chatter?

Jaskier throws him a look, as though able to tell exactly what he is thinking. Which, after a few decades of traveling together might very well be the case.

There are a few moments of silence between them as they both watch the sleeping babe resting against Geralt's chest. There is such a harsh contrast between the naked child and his metal-studded, leather armor, the sight is actually quite jarring.

"Honestly, Geralt," Jaskier finally speaks up, shaking his head but humor ever-present in his voice. And then the bard starts digging through his pack he'd still been carrying on his back, makes a happy noise when he comes up with one of his older shirts that he then promptly holds out for Geralt to take. Apparently, to wrap the child in.

Which is not a bad idea, come to think of it.

Geralt reaches out to take it and wrap around the child. "Thanks, Jaskier," he intones, very purposely thanking the bard for more than just the shirt.

The slightest pause.

"You are welcome, my darkly brooding, vaguely violence-prone, emotionally less-than-gifted friend" Jaskier then returns with easy cheer.

Geralt scowls at him, narrowing his eyes.

Jaskier doesn't even blink. "Oooh, _scary-face_ ," he just notes delightedly.

A second.

Then, Geralt just huffs out a breath. Jaskier has stopped being afraid of him ever even so much as _attempting_ to follow through on any of his various threats a long time ago. Well, at least for any threats that go beyond maybe throwing the bard into assuredly-non-drowner-infested ponds during their travels if his chattiness ever gets too annoying.

They both know he has long since determined Jaskier's safety to be ranked far above his own. If only because Geralt heals so much faster.

"Although, honestly, Geralt," Jaskier adds on, honestly amused incredulity in his voice, but also something soft in his eyes as he watches Geralt once more tuck the now bundled-up babe against his chest. "How do you keep ending up in these situations? This is now the _second_ time just since I've known you where you have found yourself unexpectedly handed the responsibility for a child against your explicit wishes. Did you perhaps jilt Lady Luck herself at some point for her to have it out for you like this?"

Geralt sighs, leans his head back against the stone at his back with a resigned sigh at the truth of that. He’d actually quite like the answer to that question as well, would like to know how it is that he keeps ending up with _more_ people bound to him every time he damn well turns around.

He thinks of Yennefer leaving and promptly coming back within the span of half an hour, thinks of his unexpected responsibility for the newborn dragon sleeping in his arms and the two women who have already sworn to protect Borch's son as they did his father, apparently intending to stick to Geralt's traveling party from now on, thinks of the child surprise he still hasn't claimed in Cintra, something he won't ever even consider - would never so much as _try_ to take a child away from the bonds of family - unless he truly is not given a choice any longer, thinks of the overly chatty bard who still remains the only person he has ever known who has freely _chosen_ to willingly stick by Geralt's side through it all, no magic or even circumstance forcing his hand. The only true companion he's ever had.

A bard who is still watching him with a humorous sort of incredulity.

"Hmm," Geralt finally hums simply in return, feels his lips quirking slightly in an answering resigned sort of amusement.

Although, if he did indeed offend some higher power somewhere, then he'd very much like to take back whatever offense he unknowingly committed and ask forgiveness.

_Fuck, I wouldn't even be above begging for clemency if that's what it takes._

He sighs slightly, head still leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, his focus on the even breaths of the child sleeping in his arms, absently listens as Jaskier starts humming some of his apparent new lyrics to himself, clearly already in the process of composing his next work to be sung around taverns all across the continent.

It’s a sound that has long since become familiar to him.

A sound that means camp fires and easy travels along long roads and an utter lack of danger from his surroundings. If only because Jaskier would already be screeching his name in panic at any perceived threat, but still forever trusting Geralt’s ability to protect them both.

+++

Ciri shivers. It's cold and windy and she hasn't had anything real to eat for almost two days now.

But no matter how tired, how cold, how utterly hopeless she might be feeling, she can't risk truly resting, can't risk the search parties of Cintra’s enemies catching up with her. Not that she’d have the shelter for a real rest anyway.

She glances to her right, towards the woods, where there is cover and probably some food and maybe even some more people hiding who might be willing to help her.

But involuntarily her gaze is drawn back straight ahead once more, towards the mountain range towering at the horizon.

The first two days she had been traveling in this direction, she hadn't even known what her goal was. But now that she can see the mountains in the distance, she just _knows_.

Actually, she rather desperately wants to stay on even terrain, knows it will be much easier to make her way through the forest than up a mountain, knows the likelihood of finding this Geralt of Rivia her grandmother sent her after - or someone who might at least know of the man - will be much higher in more populated areas.

But, still. Something is pulling at her. That same something that has guided her from place to place so far.

The voices forever whispering at the back of mind, ever-present but not quite there, inaudible but overwhelming at the same time, so very familiar but unnoticed for so long.

It's those same ever-so-familiar-barely-heard-before whispers that scream with her when her fury tears at the world around her, the screams that make glass shatter and people fall to their knees, wailing in pain. It's those same whispers that saved her life last time when she had already been caught by the man hunting her. The whispers that haven't led her wrong yet.

She breathes in, firms herself, can only hope that she is making the right choice, that she will find what she is looking for up in that mountain range.

The whispers murmur cheerfully, soothingly, reassuringly, apparently rather content with her decision. And with nothing else to guide her, those whispers humming at the back of her mind are the only thing she has to rely on.

So, with another fortifying breath Ciri determinedly walks on, ever closer to the mountains towering in the distance. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic is just weird. I mean, I wanted to fix what Borch screwed up with his meddling, ultimately having Geralt end up alone, getting screwed over a couple of times, and it wasn’t even worth it because him showing up in Cintra made no difference to the plot in any way. Also, the thought of Geralt with a baby dragon just wouldn’t leave me alone. But still, this fic didn’t turn out at all as I had originally planned...
> 
> Also, to anyone who is familiar with the maps of this world, I’m fully aware that the Dragon Mountains and Cintra are on opposite ends of the Northern Kingdoms. But I decided to just move them closer because I wanted to give Ciri a chance to find them. You know, creative license and all that XD
> 
> Would absolutely love to know what you think :D


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